


clip my wings and look at the sky

by lesbianbettycooper



Series: umbrella academy fics [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Loneliness, Pre-canon (mostly), Very Luther Friendly (sorry fellow gays who hate luther), comic elements (i.e. luther's robot ben)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 22:17:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17906681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianbettycooper/pseuds/lesbianbettycooper
Summary: The moon is lonely. His only companions had been Ben and the sporadic, at best, check-ins from home.It took him a while to get used to. He’d never had many friends besides, if you could even count them, his siblings but at home, there was always people around. Pogo, Mom, his father, people out on the street.When he was the last one remaining, the silence would feel suffocating, he would go days without having to speak to anyone.or; luther like.... reflects. i guess?





	clip my wings and look at the sky

**Author's Note:**

> title from 4am by adore delano
> 
> luther stan (i.e. Just Me) rights!!!
> 
> also luther is probably less..... paranoid (?) in this then he was in the first episode but.... idc. also also i completely forgot that diego and luther had a scene before the luther/allison/klaus scene so..... my bad hcjdkdnsks

The moon is lonely. His only companions had been Ben and the sporadic, at best, check-ins from home.

 

It took him a while to get used to. He’d never had many friends besides, if you could even count them, his siblings but at home there was always people around. Pogo, Mom, his father, people out on the street.

 

When he was the last one remaining, the silence would feel suffocating, he would go days without having to speak to anyone. It was disconcerting, to say the least, so he would ask for more missions, would go for walks at noon and return to the academy twenty minutes before dinner, would go to the grocery store and explore aimlessly for hours (even though Grace ordered all of their food online).

 

He would crack open his bedroom window and listen to the bustling streets below, would recline back on his too small bed, glance around his never changing room — a blue monstrosity stuck in 2000 that Luther had never bothered to change — and think and think and think. He’d stare _(glare)_ at the wall separating Allison’s old room — pink and childish, much the same as his — and wonder. And then his descending thoughts would be broken by a screeching outside or an exclamation from the street and he’d tune into the city a little more keenly.

 

And Klaus had used to drop by occasionally, looking for something to pawn or to try and scab some money off the top of his, highly anticipated, inheritance. He’d sit beside Luther on the fire escape in the back alley, muttering about something rather and laughing about a joke that one of his dead friends had made.

 

The moon had had none of that.

 

The moon had been a rock floating in space hundreds of thousands of miles away from anyone he knew; anyone he cared about.

 

Eventually, though, thoughts like that subsided. He’d found comfort in the important work he was doing. In collecting samples and data and sending it home to his father who would no doubt be studying the things he sent just as meticulously as Luther before him.

 

And, eventually, the robot that accompanied him to space became Ben and was adequate enough company. After a while, though fruitless and would no doubt be thought incredibly stupid by his father, he began to draw comparisons between Ben and _Ben_. How Robot Ben would look at him in a way that reminded him of Actual Ben, or Robot Ben would say something that sounded exactly like _him_ , or Robot Ben would just exist and Luther would stop and think, _‘hey, Real Ben would probably do something like that.’_

 

 _(An imagined connection to stop him from losing his mind any further during his isolation on the moon,_ his father’s voice mutters in his head.)

 

Luther grew to like it on the moon; no matter how alone he was; no matter how useless he felt at times: no matter how disgusted of himself he was sometimes.

 

He had liked the monotony of his schedule and the straightforward way in which he could help his father back home. He had liked Ben and liked watching the earthrise.

 

~~_(He had liked the fact that his_ deformities _would be unseen by anyone other than a robot and himself.)_~~

 

And he had thought, when it was time, he’d be ecstatic to come home; to feel real gravity and the actual ground beneath him. He’d thought maybe his father would offer him a firm handshake or an affectionate nod; that Pogo would greet him with a grin; his mom would hug him tightly, whisper in his ear that she’d missed him very much.

 

Instead, he comes back to a dead (possibly murdered) father and a cold, empty house.

 

 _The moon is lonely but its better than here,_ Luther thinks, a chill in his bones and a seemingly permanent pebble stuck in his boot.

 

He shrugs on a heavy coat and looks around his childhood bedroom — but it's not really his childhood bedroom, is it? He’d lived here till he was at least twenty-five and he hadn’t changed a thing. He supposes it’s some weird kind of nostalgia for a time spent saving people, surrounded by his family, and been, somewhat, content.

 

He closes the door behind him, stares at Allison’s old room exactly how he used to do when she was in actually in there.

 

_(He’d knock on the door a little too late but not late enough that Sir Reginald would be upset at them, and they’d sit together on a fire escape, talk about Luther going to space one day, Allison becoming a famous celebrity; wonder whether they’d ever get out, if they’d be thirty and still under their father’s thumb; hope that someday in the future they’d have people other than each other, that they’d still be close but with people other than themselves. Luther sometimes thinks about how wrong it’s all gone.)_

 

He walks (stomps, he’s always stomping nowadays) to the foyer, hears voices in father’s office and heads up there.

 

The moon is just as lonely as home but Luther is Number One so he’ll make it through.

**Author's Note:**

> um.............. Anyway.
> 
> sorry for this but i really just like......... Latched onto luther for some reason. like hes literally my emotional support white man. i just love this stupid stupid monkey man so much.
> 
> comments and kudos really are the best things ever!!! and my tumblr is dykeayoade


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